Bedtime for Bonzo

Sleeping has always been a chore for me. It probably started while I was a traveling salesman for a large metropolitan ink company. I spent seventeen years of my life in four different motels a week. One of my quirks is that I don't sleep well in a strange bed.

Now, I know what you are thinking. Do they make the holes in Cheerios with a smaller version of the tool they use to make donut holes? And is there some kind of hardening process that turns the Cheerio holes into Grapenuts? Those are both interesting questions but, please, pay attention.

Occasionally, I'd be lucky enough to get the same motel two nights in a row. That was when I found out that I could usually get to sleep the second night. I guess I just had to get used to the hardness of the bed... the extra flat pillows (one was not enough but two were too thick)... the light seeping in from the curtains that never completely closed... the drip in the sink or the toilet that ran all night... that unrecognizable smell or, worse yet, that recognizable smell... the sounds in the halls... the sounds in the next room... then again twenty minutes later (really?)... The big diesel truck in the parking lot that somebody left running all night (like, who forgets something like that?)... the - well you get the idea.

But I would spend four nights a week in four different motels and by the time I got home to my own bed it was a strange bed, too, and it usually wasn't until Saturday that I would get a good night's sleep. When little kids don't get enough sleep they get cranky. When adults don't get enough sleep they get to do the chores that have been piling up all week while they were gone.

Then I developed insomnia.

I literally went several years only sleeping one hour a night. I tried everything. I went to bed earlier... I went to bed later... I cut out caffeine after 6 PM... I ate lighter... I ate heavier... I tried to read myself to sleep but I can't sleep with a light on and I can't read in the dark... I tried laying on my back... then my left side... then my right side... then my stomach... then my left side... then my right side... then my back... then I had to get back up to straighten the covers... I tried sleeping with and without covers... then just the sheet... then with and without pajamas... then I did the cover thing with and without pajamas... then without the pajamas, without the covers, with the drapes open...

And that's how I found out I can't sleep in jail cells either.

While I was in jail I met a guy named Dooley. He was a chronic masturbater. He was always being locked up for that. (Apparently that's another thing you can't do in a school zone) And it seems that the guys in the others cells, though initially amused, eventually complained because it was affecting their sleep, as well. So the jailer hooked the guy up with some manacles and chains, arranged to keep Dooley's hands away from his crotch. Now Dooley was determined and, in his sex starved brain, thought he could woo the chains into being just a little bit longer. He would whisper promises to them... he would flatter them... he would tell lies to them... he would accuse them of being longer for shorter guys.

He even named them. The one that clinked around a lot he names Margie. And the fat, black one was Jasmine. (I think they were two of his ex-wives).

I was only in the slammer for one night but I still Tweet with several of the dealers I met there. Nice guys. They tell me that one day Dooley stopped talking to the chains. Later, when he was allowed to take a shower he just rubbed it long enough to get it clean. After he was released he was never arrested for jerking off in public again. In fact, they told me that Dooley became a politician and is now only jerking other people off.

But I digress.

Recently, I decided to start sleeping on the passenger side of my bed. I have a pillow top mattress that cannot be flipped over and where I usually sleep has gone from a shallow groove to a dip to, now, I have trouble rolling out of it in the morning. I have to get up on my elbows to see what time it is in the middle of the night. So I decided to move to the high ground on the other side of the bed.

Do you have any idea how hard it is for a left handed, anal retentive, insomniac to learn to sleep on the wrong side of the bed? I have to remember to look the other way to see what time it is... I have to hold my pills in my right hand and drink from my left... if I get to sleep, I have to remember to, unconsciously, sprawl the other direction... My ceiling fan is not centered over my bed and now the air flow is all wrong... the light seeping in from the kitchen window is at the wrong angle and now all of the shadows really do look like people...

Sometimes I miss the sound of someone breathing gently next to me... a soft snore interrupted by a warm body turning slightly during peaceful sleep... and sometimes, every now and then, on a warm summer evening, I even miss the sounds of Dooley cranking one out.

Man, I wish I could sleep.

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The preceding story was based upon actual internet rumors. Only the chains have been named.
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